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Jan. 19th, 2009 02:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taras_olekseiTaras paused in front of Liadov's office.
He was on his way back from the gym, after a good, hard workout. He wore his black tank and a pair of loose pants, and had a towel draped around his neck.
He'd gotten some stares and sidelong glances in the gym, soldiers who eyed his tattoos. Taras supposed that the worst ones were covered, but even just his bare arms and shoulders were enough to hint at his criminal resume, especially the barbed wire around his biceps, and snake and dagger on his forearm. Those said enough.
Taras hadn't been intending show any overt sign that he'd been up north, not in front of civilized people, but after the scene between Lasha and Liadov in the mess hall that morning, he figured the soldiers needed to see that the Ministry employed more than fancy pricks whose idea of fighting was rubbing up against a wall and grabbing each other's arms. And besides, all that whispering had been a little queer.
He felt good. Energized, muscles thrumming with energy to spare. It had been a while since he'd had a proper workout. Not since before he'd arrived. He'd hit the weights and kettlebells, and done some calisthenics. Now he could have a shower and a snack, and call it a night.
Taras eyed Liadov's door.
The fucker was probably gone by now, off to mess, off to bed, whatever he did when he wasn't stalking through the halls and pounding on people's doors. Maybe at the pathologist's lab. But then again, Liadov worked some strange hours.
Taras couldn't hear anything in particular beyond the door. He stood there for a few more moments, wondering if he should just break in again, but there was no point if no one was inside. He was about to turn away when he heard a noise.
It was soft, but had the particular ring of struck glass. Taras frowned. He hesitated for another moment, then knocked on the door, not loud, but polite.
He was on his way back from the gym, after a good, hard workout. He wore his black tank and a pair of loose pants, and had a towel draped around his neck.
He'd gotten some stares and sidelong glances in the gym, soldiers who eyed his tattoos. Taras supposed that the worst ones were covered, but even just his bare arms and shoulders were enough to hint at his criminal resume, especially the barbed wire around his biceps, and snake and dagger on his forearm. Those said enough.
Taras hadn't been intending show any overt sign that he'd been up north, not in front of civilized people, but after the scene between Lasha and Liadov in the mess hall that morning, he figured the soldiers needed to see that the Ministry employed more than fancy pricks whose idea of fighting was rubbing up against a wall and grabbing each other's arms. And besides, all that whispering had been a little queer.
He felt good. Energized, muscles thrumming with energy to spare. It had been a while since he'd had a proper workout. Not since before he'd arrived. He'd hit the weights and kettlebells, and done some calisthenics. Now he could have a shower and a snack, and call it a night.
Taras eyed Liadov's door.
The fucker was probably gone by now, off to mess, off to bed, whatever he did when he wasn't stalking through the halls and pounding on people's doors. Maybe at the pathologist's lab. But then again, Liadov worked some strange hours.
Taras couldn't hear anything in particular beyond the door. He stood there for a few more moments, wondering if he should just break in again, but there was no point if no one was inside. He was about to turn away when he heard a noise.
It was soft, but had the particular ring of struck glass. Taras frowned. He hesitated for another moment, then knocked on the door, not loud, but polite.
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-28 03:03 am (UTC)"If that's true, I suppose it shows either remorse or innocence."
It was an odd conversation to be having. He was extremely aware of Oleksei's musclar thighs, settled flush against his own, and the spent, too-intimate feeling in his body and mind.
Oleksei was an unlikely carrier pigeon for Isaev to send on his behalf. That meant Oleksei must be giving him this information of his own volition, unbeknownst to Lasha.
Liadov couldn't fathom a motive, precisely, although he assumed it was not malevolent.
"We'll see, won't we."
He paused, with a faint smile.
"There's one thing I didn't tell Ilarion. If this comes through, and I get pulled back to Leningrad, I'll be his superior."
Nika paused significantly, looking Oleksei in his mismatched eyes.
"Yours too."